


Human After All

by wingsofbadass



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU - Futuristic setting, Angst, Cyborg!Marco, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marco's POV, Self-Loathing, lots of cheesiness, supportive Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wake up in the dark. All I hear is beeping. The darkness is pressing down on me, it feels wrong, so wrong. The beeping speeds up. I can't see. Why can't I see? Panic rises in my chest, thrashing against my ribs. The sound of my breath tearing out of me fills my ears. </p><p>Someone calls my name. </p><p>*</p><p>When Marco feels like he has lost himself and his humanity, all he has left is Jean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human After All

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [this amazing art](http://johannathemad.tumblr.com/post/66858401528/you-guys-remember-the-futuristic-au-where-marco) by johannathemad. This was also written under the influence of a lot of Daft Punk.
> 
> Thank you to [Monkey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) and [Kenji](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenjiandco/pseuds/Kenjiandco) for the help with the editing. If you haven't, go read their fics!

I wake up in the dark. All I hear is beeping. The darkness is pressing down on me, it feels wrong, so wrong. The beeping speeds up. I can't see. Why can't I see? Panic rises in my chest, thrashing against my ribs. The sound of my breath tearing out of me fills my ears.

 

Someone calls my name.

 

If I could just open my eyes. No, no, please, why can't I open my eyes? There is something touching my left arm. What was that, what – I can't tell where I am. A storm of voices rages around me. I hear my name again. Why, why can't I see? Why does my body feel so wrong? My breath comes out in a sob. Something emerges from the gloom. It's like a part of the darkness is taking shape, looming over me. No.

 

“He cannot be waking up now, it's not ready yet!”

 

The enormous blackness is extending a hand towards me. I need to get away, please, please. When I try to move, my body refuses to obey. I feel broken. It's like I can't sense myself. Where is my arm? Didn't I feel something touch it just now? The darkness is closer now, its grotesque visage is all I see. I hang limp in its hand as it lifts me high, high.

 

“Somebody do something, before he hurts himself!”

 

A monstrous gullet opens before me. I scream. There is the tiniest prick in my left arm. A choked sound. The dark comes closer still. No, no, no. The word beats in my head, racing along to my pulse. I can't feel, I can't think. The numbness swallows me only shortly before the darkness does.

 

***

 

I wake up in the dark. All I hear is a beeping sound. My left hand feels warm. For a little while I just lie there, breathing, relishing the little source of warmth. My thoughts are thick and fuzzy, sluggish. When I open my eyes, the world is tilted. I can see a white wall in front me. But while I can see what's to my left, the world remains dark to the far right. Fear floods over me, a freezing wave of heaviness, threatening to pull me under.

 

My gaze flits around the room, searching for something – anything – of meaning. I try to claw away whatever is clouding my vision on the right but my arm won't move. Why won't my arm move? The other is still caught in the warm little bubble. When I let my head drop to that side, my cheek brushes against the softness of a pillow. The sight before me takes my breath away.

 

My hand lies in his. His face is turned to me, resting on his upper arm, his lips slightly parted. He is sitting in chair beside my bed, his upper body sprawled across the narrow space next to my legs. My heart gives an uneven thud. As I look at him, I hear a tiny beep. A moment later, my right eye clears, my peripheral vision extends. I let out a sigh of relief. I am not broken.

 

Jean jerks awake. He squints around and rubs at his eyes with his free hand, never letting go of mine. I give it a gentle squeeze. The way he freezes. Looks at my hand. Flicks his gaze to my face. I almost want to laugh. But his expression makes my heart ache. His features jumble into a slight grimace as he fights his emotions, his eyebrows crunching together. He grips my hand tighter and presses his forehead against it, as if trying to hide behind it.

 

“Jean.” My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.

 

He turns his head, pressing our entwined hands against his cheek now. “I can't believe it works.” A little smile tugs at his lips.

 

Something in the way he says that makes me uneasy. Works.

 

Just when I'm about to ask what he means, there is a bang from behind him and we both flinch. Hanji and Moblit rush into the room, looking excited.

 

“He's finally awake?!”, Hanji yells, shaking fists in elation like a little child. They stand at the foot of the bed, Moblit watching me silently from a little distance. “How do you feel, Marco?”

 

“I don't know,” I say honestly. Something is definitely off, but I can't put my finger on it. I look at Jean uncertainly and catch him with his brows furrowed with worry, before he can smooth his face. The uneasiness in my chest flutters.

 

“Are you in any pain right now?”, Hanji asks and I return my eyes to them.

 

“No, I don't think so.”

 

“Good, that's good!” They turn to speak to Moblit.

 

They expected me to be in pain? Fear is swirls inside of me and it must show, for Jean's hand tightens around mine. Why would I be in pain? I don't understand. Why does something feel weird? I can't –

 

To my right the beeping sounds more erratic and I turn my head to see what is causing it. It's a monitor. I watch the rising and falling of the green line for a while, marveling a little at the way it is perfectly in time with my heartbeat. And then I notice.

 

There is a blueish, silvery glow coming from my right arm.

 

“What is that?” My voice sounds so calm.

 

“Oh”, Hanji says, like they just remembered. They clear their throat. “Marco, you were injured in battle. Severely injured. You lost a large part of your torso and your head, as well as your right arm. But thankfully we were able to save you by replacing the missing parts with bionic ones. You have been in an induced coma while you healed.”

 

My head is spinning. Missing parts. I lift my right arm but what rises is this chunk of metal, protruding from underneath the sleeve of the hospital gown. Eyes wide, I take in the sleek planes and strips of light on the thing. I turn the palm to face upward, now noticing the tiniest whirring sound. I move the fingers, watch the digits make a smooth wave of silver.

 

“What is that?!” My voice tears through the silence, breaking on the last syllable with something like hysteria. Hanji comes around to the right side of my bed and lays a hand on the slab of metal.

 

“This is your new arm”, they say in a careful voice but when I look up, they don't meet my eyes. Their gaze, so full of blatant excitement, even triumph, is focused on the thing. “It seems fully functional. That's great.”

 

Great.

 

“May I have a look at your face?”

 

I look at Hanji in confusion. They reach up and touch their hands to my cheeks with delicate deliberation. A slight flinch when their cold fingers meet my skin. It takes me a moment to realize the sensation is limited to my left cheek. I cannot feel their hand on my right. Another moment to realize.

 

I scream.

 

***

 

“Marco, please.”

 

I close my eyes from the pain. It's the pain in his voice that I cannot stand. It cuts at me, plunging me even deeper into self-loathing. How can I stand to hurt him, hurt Jean? Jean who, I hear, has been sleeping in a shitty chair next to my bed for a weeks. Jean who, still never left this room, unless he was forced to. Jean, who tries his best, every day, never losing his patience with me. I know I'm hurting him. But I can't bring myself to face – anything.

 

I'm lying in the same hospital bed, turned on my side as if I could crush the wrong part of me with the weight of my real body. I'm facing away from Jean, who's standing beside a tray of food. I haven't eaten since waking up. Apparently I've been fed through one of the countless tubes they have rammed into what's left of me. Until yesterday. I cannot bring myself to move for anything. So I don't.

 

I hear Jean sigh and sink down into the chair. When it seems like he isn't going to speak, I open my eyes again and stare at the monitor that used to track my heartbeat. It is turned off now that I'm awake. A heartbeat is for real humans.

 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he asks quietly.

 

I have no idea what I'm trying to do. All I want to do is lie here. So I say nothing, agony cutting at me again.

 

“This is bullshit.” The suppressed anger is rising in his voice now. I keep staring at the monitor, not seeing. “You were as good as dead –“ He breaks off as though trying to calm himself, before he growls: “And now you don't want to _live_? _This is fucking bullshit, Marco!_ ”

 

I hear a crash that makes me jerk, then his heavy footsteps as he storms out of the room. At least he is getting away from me. Away, where I can't hurt him any more

 

***

 

When I wake up the next day, Jean is asleep in the chair next to me, his head on the mattress.

 

No, no, no, why, Jean? Why are you here? Worse than the regret that he is not going to leave me is the joyful little thud my heart makes because he came back. I bury my face in the pillow in shame.

 

As always, he is holding my hand.

 

***

 

I'm in pain. My stomach is in knots, convulsing violently around nothing. I grit my teeth to keep myself from groaning. I don't know how many days it has been. I am weak and that weakness is almost blissful. It feels right.

 

What does not feel right, however, is the pain in my chest. When the nurse brought in another tray of food that I did not touch, Jean stood up and went into the bathroom. I lie there, hollow, the useless piece of shit that I am, listening to Jean quietly cry behind the closed door.

 

I'm breaking him. Slowly, he's falling to pieces at my side. I don't know what to do. I don't know how I can be enough for him. He's not leaving, I know that now. He won't leave behind this piece of trash I've become. My stomach clenches again. I can't keep hurting him, I just can't.

 

I look at the tray.

 

*

 

When Jean returns, his red eyes fall on the empty plate immediately. I drop my gaze onto my lap when he looks at me. A heavy silence falls between us, pressing down on me. I swallow.

 

“I'm sorry.” My voice is so soft that it must seem like I hoped he wouldn't hear me. Maybe I did.

 

Jean sits down and takes my hand in his. This is simple, familiar. His warmth soothes the pain in my chest.

 

“You stupid asshole”, he breathes. Surprised, I look up at him. He's smiling at me, his expression something like fondness. My throat feels thick. Not knowing what to say, I just stare, my heart fluttering.

 

“Don't you know what you mean to me?”

 

I do. And no pain has ever been so beautiful. Because he's the one. The one who is closest to my heart. The one I dream about. The one nobody could ever replace. The one who deserves so much better than me.

 

Still at a loss for words, I raise his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. As he moves closer, his familiar scent hits me. I just want to bury myself in him. Only too late do I realize what he's doing. I turn my head in time and his lips meet my good cheek. My left eye burns.

 

“Marco...”

 

And I burst into tears. My face contorts as I try to keep a sob from escaping. Hot tears are spilling over. Jean pulls me into his arms before I can protest and I can't be bothered to refuse him in this moment. So I cry into his shoulder while he strokes my back and whispers gentle things to me.

 

I'm grieving. Grieving the loss of the old Marco. The old Marco who had a bright future ahead of him. The old Marco who was undamaged and hopeful. The old Marco who was worthy of this amazing person holding him. The old Marco who loved Jean shamelessly and passionately and kissed him whenever he wanted.

 

Slowly, I calm down but Jean never lets go of me. This is the first time I've cried since I woke up. When I choke out his name, my throat burning, he just holds me tighter. I can feel his steady heartbeat underneath my palm where it rests against his chest. It is so beautiful to me in that moment, I almost start crying again.

 

After a while I break away from him, brushing the tears from my cheeks with my good hand. Only when I feel the cold metal underneath my fingers, I remember there is nothing to wipe away there.

 

“See? I'm a monster”, I croak with a humorless laugh. “I can't even cry out of both eyes.”

 

“Don't say that”, Jean retorts, his eyebrows scrunching together. “Even with one eye you're still crying like a baby.”

 

This time my laugh is genuine.

 

***

 

“Come on, you can do it.”

 

The artificial hand is wrapped around the handle of a machine that reminds me of hours spent in the gym. After punching a crack into the wall last week I'm supposed to train how to control the unexpected strength in the new limb. All I've done over the last seven days is damage more parts of the physical therapy room. The scrutiny of so many people has my shirt sticking to my back. I swallow, not taking my eyes from that handle but unable to move.

 

Hanji is standing to my right, drowning me in encouragements that do nothing but make my stomach churn. Moblit is quiet in the background. Sometimes he will scribble something down on his clipboard without saying a single word. If it weren't for Jean next to me, I would probably have fled long ago.

 

I can't bring myself to meet his hopeful eyes. The memory of his face when I announced I wanted to get out of bed won't leave me. While my heart is soaring because I made him smile, made him proud, the thought of failing him now cripples me. I am going to mess this up, I know it.

 

“It's okay if you don't get it right, Marco”, Hanji says as though they read my thoughts. I let out a shaky breath. There is no way around it, I have to do it. _For Jean, do it for Jean._ The digits of the hand tighten around the handle. All I have to do is push it forward slightly, without knocking the whole thing over or breaking off the bar or – Do it.

 

I swallow and gingerly push the bar forward. With an echoing clank the handle breaks off, followed by a deafening crash, when the weights at the end of the bar smash back to the ground. I back off immediately, holding the arm with my good hand like a wild animal that needs to be restrained.

 

“Oh god, I'm sorry!” My voice is a pathetic whimper. While Hanji and Moblit rush over to the machine to examine the damage, Jean is by my side at once. His hand slips to the small of my back, solid, reassuring.

 

“Hey, that could've been worse”, he laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“It's not working, I'm not making any progress, this arm, it doesn't work for me, Jean, I can't –“ I gulp, interrupting my stream of panic as I try to calm myself.

 

“Yes, you can”, Jean says, his voice steady. The way he is looking into my eyes makes my heart stutter. “I believe in you. It doesn't matter how many times you have to try. You will get it right.”

 

God, what did I ever do to deserve somebody like him? I can't look away from him. My gaze lingers on the dark shadows underneath his eyes, on the shaggy strands of hair hanging into his forehead, and on his lips, his perfect lips.

 

His hand slides from my back into the palm of the fake hand, holding the artificial fingers like in a handshake. The question rises in my throat but he answers it on his own. “Here, try it on me.”

 

I just stare at him, eyes wide.

 

“Oooohh, interesting!” Hanji croones, rushing over. Moblit follows silent as ever.

 

My heart is smashing itself against my ribcage, trying to escape this absurd situation. Jean's gaze is steady as is his hand. A new kind of fear is rising in me or maybe it's bile, I don't know. All I know is that I'm frozen on the spot, scared to move a single muscle. The littlest twitch could hurt Jean. Jean, beautiful and whole and flawless Jean.

 

“No, please don't make me”, I whisper like a child, everything about me shaky. He just looks at me, his expression serious but kind. Maybe sensing that this has somehow become an intimate moment between the two of us, neither Moblit nor Hanji speak.

 

“I don't want to hurt you”, I breathe, begging him.

 

“Then don't”, Jean replies, voice even. The look in his eyes kills me. It's absolute trust. He trusts that I will not injure him, when I can't even trust myself to breathe. How, how can I do this? I take a deep breath. Looking down at his fingers around that gleaming hand, I carefully close the fingers around his. I breathe in again. The blood is rushing in my ears. I can do this. As gently as I can manage I pull Jean's hand towards me.

 

It's still too much. He stumbles forward, crashing into me. With a gasp I let go of his hand, bringing up my left arm to catch him. He looks up at me, smile so radiant it takes my breath away.

 

“Someone's enthusiastic”, he grins, wagging his eyebrows at me. I feel what's left of my face heat up. Such a mundane thing to do, blushing. Next to us, Hanji is whooping and jumping up and down.

 

“Are you hurt?” I ask Jean.

 

“No.” He looks down to his arm as though checking. “All good.”

 

The blood in my veins sings.

 

“Can I try again?”

 

***

 

I stand in front of the mirror in underwear, examining my body. I have never actually looked at the whole thing before. The metal follows a straight line down from the middle of my head, over my neck and chest. Only towards my stomach does my body start to reclaim territory on the right side, where the metal makes a curve just below my waist.

 

They have done a good job, really. The metal part of my body mirrors the real one perfectly. If I let my imagination run wild, I can almost pretend that there is just a layer of silver paint covering my skin. If it weren't for the obvious differences in the joints and for the lights and the cables.

 

I let my fingers slide over the smooth surface of the fake chest. Over the artificial dip of a non-existent collarbone, over the shoulder, down the arm. It feels so cold and hard and alien. An alien, that's what I feel like. How could anyone ever love this?

 

My gaze settles on my face, where the unfamiliar material looks the most grotesque. The other day, Jean joked about the merits of only having to shave one side of my face. I smile at the memory, watch the left corner of my mouth not quite matching the right, where it almost touches the bionic mask.

 

Jean enters the bathroom at this point, looking concerned.

 

“Are you okay? You went in here a while ago and you still haven't turned on the shower.”

 

I meet his eyes in the mirror.

 

“Yeah, I'm just … looking.”

 

Jean comes up behind me, winding his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my new shoulder.

 

“I can't believe I didn't realize how hot I was before this”, I say with a dry laugh, trying to divert from my dark thoughts. I feel his silent chuckle against my back. The grin he gives me in the mirror makes my ear burn.

 

“You're still hot” he says with such sincerity that I can't find it in me to argue. I must have looked doubtful, though, because he turns me around and takes my face in his hands. “You're beautiful, okay?”

 

And he kisses me. This time, I do not turn away. The kiss is clumsy, with half of my face being synthetic, the new movement unfamiliar, but we fall into a comfortable rhythm soon. His lips are so soft, so warm. The sigh that escapes him as I open my mouth to deepen the kiss makes my knees go weak.

 

“Doesn't it feel weird?” I ask, as we break apart, and rest my forehead against his.

 

“A little bit”, he admits. Before I can do something ridiculous like apologize, he presses his lips against mine again. He doesn't linger, though. He moves to the side, planting kisses against the metal of my cheek, his mouth wandering down my neck. Jean takes my arm, and starts kissing along the surface, before I clap my other hand against my mouth to stifle a sob.

 

He looks up, confused. I take a deep breath and move my hand away from my mouth, instead touching the side of his face. He leans into the touch, still visibly at a loss.

 

“I can see you kissing that thing”, I finally say, my voice thick, “but I can't feel it.”

 

Jean looks shaken. I don't know what to do to make it go away. All I do is hurt him. He swallows.

 

“I'm not kissing _that thing_. I'm kissing _you_. This is part of you, Marco.”

 

“Even if that were true, it wouldn't change the fact that I can't feel it. I don't even feel like I'm human.”

 

He puts a hand over mine, still resting on his cheek. His thumb grazes lightly over my skin.

 

“Can you feel this?” I nod. What he is trying to say is obvious but his kindness is not enough to soothe the ache in my chest. He moves his hand up my arm, then through my hair, repeating his question, and again I nod, closing my eyes at his touch. His fingers trail along the back of my neck and my shiver answers his question before he can ask it.

 

Jean kisses me again, hard. His hand is still on my neck, pulling me in, while his lips move against mine with urgency. I make an embarrassing sort of whimper and hold onto his hips, when his other hand dips to the edge of my briefs, brushing up my stomach. The beating of my heart is so exquisitely frantic.

 

Hot tingles erupt where he touches me. _Please never stop_. My breath is so heavy I can hardly get any air around our kisses but I need him, need more of him. Sliding my hands up his sides, I lift the shirt from his perfect skin. His mouth leaves mine as he raises his arms and lets me yank the cloth over his head and toss it aside. His gaze burns me. Thoughtlessly, I wrap both arms around him to pull him close. He shivers against me.

 

“It's okay”, he breathes, before I can even react, and brings his lips to mine again. As his hands move down and squeeze my butt, I sigh into his mouth. I can't keep myself from running my palms across his firm back, from grinding my hips against his, and there is no way he cannot feel that I am half-hard by now. The bastard grins into the kiss.

 

Embarrassingly, my breath hitches when he slides his hand into my boxers. There is no hiding the way he makes me feel, though, no glossing over the way my hips buck forward against his hand, the way I groan, the way I tighten my grip on his shoulders. His strokes are slow, teasing and so, so good. I break away from his lips and drop my forehead against his shoulder, making sure it is my real cheek that presses against his. I close my eyes.

 

 _Oh, god._ My breathing is slowly turning into soft moaning. The heat spreading through my body pools in my gut. Jean is kissing and licking at my neck, setting me on fire. I feel hazy. When he starts stroking me faster, gripping me tighter, his name slips from my lips, barely more than gasp.

 

“How does it feel?” he asks, his hot breath against my ear makes me shiver. I don't trust myself with words. I just hold on to his shoulders, afraid I'm going to fall apart. “Does it feel good?”

 

“Yes”, I finally manage, breathless. As expected, now that I've found my voice, I cannot take it back. My mouth falls open, releasing desperate sounds from deep in my throat. Delicious pressure is building inside me. I can register little more than the amazing feeling of Jean's hand, coaxing more low moans out of me. When I come, I am nothing but lost, lost in pleasure, lost in this moment. It feels so good it's almost unreal.

 

Jean kisses my temple. He tells me I'm beautiful.

 

After my breathing has returned to something resembling normal, I open my eyes. That's when I see it. The artificial fingers digging into his shoulder. With a horrified gasp, I release my hold on him, revealing angry red welts on his pale skin.

 

“Oh, shit, I'm so sorry, baby.” The words tumble from my lips in a futile attempt to make it alright. It's not enough. Even when I kiss the spot where my fucking monstrosity of an arm hurt him, it's not enough. I hurt him, I keep hurting him. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Jean's arms are around me, one hand caressing my hair.

 

“Hey, it's okay”, he whispers, “it doesn't hurt.”

 

I don't say anything, disgusted with myself.

 

Sensing I'm not convinced, he speaks again. “If I made you forget about it, even for a little while, it's worth it.”

 

I blink. Jean made me forget. For a little moment, I did not think about that thing attached to me. I let go, completely. And still, the worst thing I had done to him would fade in a couple of hours. There are no words for the love and the shame and the gratitude swirling in my chest. So I let my lips write my feelings out against his.

 

***

 

My head snaps up at what Hanji's just said. My eyes have been on Jean who is listening to them attentively, his eyebrows drawn together. Rather than concentrating on what Hanji was saying, I admired the curve of his jaw and the way the muscles twitched when he ground his teeth.

 

“You're releasing me?” My voice doesn't sound like my own. Jean's thumb is stroking over the back of my hand.

 

“You've fully healed and the physical therapy is going great”, Hanji says with a genuine smile, “there is no reason to hold you here anymore.”

 

I look at Jean and his face is so full of glee it breaks my heart. Swallowing, I lower my eyes to the white blankets. Shame merges with the panic in my chest. I should be happy, I know that. Instead, all I feel is dread.

 

During the last weeks this hospital room has become my refuge, my fortress. The only place someone like me could possibly belong. The idea of re-joining the world of whole people devastates me. I haven't even allowed any of my old comrades to visit me. How can I dare share the world with people who will look at me like the monster that I am? How am I supposed to return to a normal life?

 

“I... will give you a minute”, I hear Hanji say worriedly, before they leave the room. The sound of the door clicking into the lock resounds in my ears.

 

“Are you okay?” I close my eyes at Jean's tender words. His voice is my anchor.

 

“I don't know”, I admit.

 

“It's okay to be scared.”

 

“What does brave Jean Kirschstein know about being scared?” My voice is sharp, piercing, coated in a bitterness I did not expect. As soon as the words have left my lips, I wish I could take them back. I look up at Jean. His features are twisted by anger and hurt. My heart is heavy. I open my mouth to apologize but he cuts across me.

 

“What do _I_ know about being scared?” he snarls, eyes blazing, “ _what the fuck, Marco?_ Do you know what it was like, finding you in the street? Half of your face was just _gone!_ You were covered in blood! I carried you all the way here, I carried you in my arms, I thought you must be dead!”

 

All I want to do is bury my face in my hands, in the bed, in his chest, anywhere. I just want to hide from this feeling. I'm so horrible. But I have no right to hide from the pain in his teary eyes, from the way his voice breaks as he finally flings the anger I deserve at me.

 

“I thought I had never been more scared in my entire life! But then they were operating on you and that was a whole new level of scary! And then you were in a coma and I didn't know if you were ever going to wake up! I was so fucking scared but then you did wake up and I thought I could finally stop being scared all the time! But it doesn't stop! Every time you call yourself a monster, I'm afraid you're gonna hurt yourself!” His tone has traveled from furious to to helpless. The forlorn look on his face makes him look so young. He presses his eyes shut and a tear trickles down his cheek. “I'm scared I'm gonna lose you.”

 

“I'm sorry”, I say, the words are embarrassing and far from enough. I scramble over the side of the bed, sliding to the floor in front of his chair. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” It's all I say to him these days. My hands come up to cup his cheeks, my thumb wiping away the wetness.

 

He opens his eyes. “You suck.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Promise me you won't hurt yourself.”

 

I hold his gaze. “I promise.”

 

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

 

I let out a shaky laugh and lean up. Jean meets me halfway, pressing his lips to mine softly. My heart soars, my heart aches. Tangling my fingers in his hair, I let myself fall into him. Jean, my Jean. He sighs against my lips and I want to treasure that sound until the end of everything.

 

When he breaks away, he leans his forehead against mine.

 

“I'm afraid of what's to come”, I confess. “I have no idea what to do.”

 

“What you will do”, he replies gently, “is whatever the hell you want. No, shut up. Don't say you can't. If you want to go back into the Corps, you can do it, I know you can. If you want to do something else, you can. Whatever you want, I'm with you.”

 

There's a lump in my throat. I remember the younger Jean with his harsh words and pessimistic views. And I look at this miracle of a person who believes in me. In this shell of a person who is just learning to live again.

 

“I love you”, I whisper, unable to hold the feeling in.

 

He lets out a groan that is colored by a warm laugh. “You just had to go ahead and say it first.”

 

***

 

The hospital's lobby is bright, friendly, illuminated by sunlight streaming in through the glass front. Jean's hand is in my mine, as always. I realize that I'm wearing shoes for the first time in my new life. The automatic doors slide open and closed regularly, as people move through them. The hushed buzz of voices laps around us like waves.

 

“You know we can't stay here, right?” Jean asks eventually, looking at me sideways.

 

I shove my elbow into his ribs and he jumps, grumbling something undoubtedly friendly.

 

“I just have to prepare myself”, I say. For what I'm not sure. I'm wearing long sleeves, so my arm is covered, but there is no hiding my face. People will stare. I take a deep breath. I can't stay here. I've been hiding myself in this limbo but that is no way to live, I know that. I think of my friends who have called. I think of Sasha who said she can't wait to cook for me. I think of Connie who sounded so excited at the prospect of seeing my “cool” new body parts. I think of Armin who asked me what model they are and then read everything about them he could get his fingers on.

 

But mostly, I think of Jean. My best friend, my soulmate. I think of Jean who wants to share this life with me, this precious second life I've been given. I think of Jean who still looks at me like I'm the best thing that has ever happened to him. I think of Jean who is patiently standing here with me, at the edge of this new beginning.

 

I take another breath. My hold on his hand tightens slightly and he turns his face to me.

 

“Let's go”, I say.

 

Jean and I move as one, as we step into the sunlight.

 

 


End file.
